If Lord Kitchener is not to be held primarily responsible for the delay in providing war material, just as little is he to be blamed for the methods of recruiting. For he had to take what the politicians told him. He had to accept their sagacious views of what the people would stand; of 'what they would never stand'; of what 'from the House of Commons' standpoint' was practicable or impracticable.
Lord Kitchener wanted men. During August and September he wanted them at once—without a moment's delay. Obviously the right plan was to ask in a loud voice who would volunteer; to take as many of these as it was possible to house, clothe, feed, and train; then to sit down quietly and consider how many more were likely to be wanted, at what dates, and how best they could be got. But as regards the first quarter of a million or so, which there were means for training at once, there was only one way—to call loudly for volunteers. The case was one of desperate urgency, and as things then stood, it would have been the merest pedantry to delay matters until a system, for which not even a scheme or skeleton existed before the emergency arose, had been devised. The rough and readymethod of calling out loudly was open to many objections on the score both of justice and efficiency, but the all-important thing was to save time.
NEED FOR A SYSTEM
Presumably, by and by, when the first rush was over, the Cabinet did sit down round a table to talk things over. We may surmise the character of the conversation which was then poured into Lord Kitchener's ears—how England would never stand this or that; how no freeborn Englishman—especially north of the Humber and the Trent,[1] whence the Liberal party drew its chief support—would tolerate being tapped on the shoulder and told to his face by Government what his duty was; how much less would he stand being coerced by Government into doing it; how he must be tapped on the shoulder and told by other people; how he must be coerced by other people; how pressure must be put on by private persons—employers by threats of dismissal—young females of good, bad, and indifferent character by blandishments and disdain. The fear of starvation for the freeborn Englishman and his family—at that time a real and present danger with many minds—or the shame of receiving a white feather, were the forces by which England and the Empire were to be saved at this time of trial. Moreover, would it not lead to every kind of evil if, at this juncture, the country were to become annoyed with the Government? Better surely that it should become annoyed with any one rather than the Government, whose patriotic duty, therefore, was to avoid unpopularity with more devoted vigilance than heretofore, if such a thing were possible.
One can imagine Lord Kitchener—somewhat wearyof discussions in this airy region, and sorely perplexed by all these cobwebs of the party system—insisting doggedly that his business was to make a New Army, and to come to the assistance of France, without a day's unnecessary delay. He must have the men; how was he to get the men?
And one can imagine the response. "Put your trust in us, and we will get you the men. We will go on shouting. We will shout louder and louder. We will paste up larger and larger pictures on the hoardings. We will fill whole pages of the newspapers with advertisements drawn up by the 'livest publicity artists' of the day. We will enlist the sympathies and support of the press—for this is not an Oriental despotism, but a free country, where the power of the press is absolute. And if the sympathies of the press are cool, or their support hangs back, we will threaten them with the Press Bureau. We will tell the country-gentlemen, and the men-of-business, that it is their duty to put on the screw; and most of these, being easily hypnotised by the word 'duty,' will never dream of refusing. If their action is resented, and they become disliked it will be very regrettable; but taking a broad view, this will not be injurious to the Liberal party in the long run.
"Leave this little matter, Lord Kitchener, to experts. Lend your great name. Allow us to show your effigies to the people. Consider what a personal triumph for yourself if, at the end of this great war, we can say on platforms that you and we together have won it on the Voluntary System. Trust in us and our methods. We will boom yourNew Army, and we will see to it at the same time that the Government does not become unpopular, and also, if possible, that the Empire is saved."
THE ADVERTISEMENT CAMPAIGN
So they boomed the Voluntary System and the New Army in Periclean passages; touched with awe the solemn chords; shouted as if it had been Jericho.
Two specimens, out of a large number of a similar sort—the joint handiwork apparently of the 'publicity artists,' bettering the moving appeals of the late Mr. Barnum, and of the party managers, inspired by the traditions of that incomparable ex-whip, Lord Murray of Elibank—are given below.[2] It is of course impossible to do justice here to the splendour of headlines and leaded capitals; but the nature of the appeal will be gathered clearly enough. Briefly, the motive of it was to avoid direct compulsion by Government—which would have fallen equally and fairly upon all—and to substitute for this, indirect compulsion and pressure by private individuals—which must of necessity operate unequally, unfairly, and invidiously. To say that this sort of thing is not compulsion, is to say what is untrue. If, as appears to be the case, the voluntary system has broken down, and we are to have compulsion, most honest men and women will prefer that the compulsion should be fair rather than unfair, direct rather than indirect, and that it should be exercised by those responsible for the government of the country, rather than by private persons who cannot compel, but can only penalise.
By these means, during the past six months, a great army has been got together—an army great in numbers,[3] still greater in spirit; probably one of the noblest armies ever recruited in an cause. And Lord Kitchener has done his part by training this army with incomparable energy, and by infusing into officers and men alike his own indomitable resolution.
The high quality of the New Army is due to the fact that the bulk of it consists of two kinds of men, who of all others are the best material for soldiers. It consists of men who love fighting for its own sake—a small class. It also consists of men who hate fighting, but whose sense of duty is their guiding principle—fortunately a very large class. It consists of many others as well, driven on by divers motives. But the spirit of the New Army—according to theaccounts of those who are in the best position to judge—is the spirit of the first two classes—of the fighters and the sense-of-duty men. It is these who have leavened it throughout.
ITS EFFECT ON PUBLIC OPINION
This magnificent result—for it is magnificent, whatever may be thought of the methods which achieved it—has been claimed in many quarters—Liberal, Unionist, and non-party—as a triumph for the voluntary system. But if we proceed to question it, how voluntary was it really? Also how just? Did the New Army include all, or anything like all, those whose clear duty it was to join? And did it not include many people who ought never to have been asked to join, or even allowed to join, until others—whose ages, occupations, and responsibilities marked them out for the first levies—had all been called up?
There is also a further question—did the country, reading these various advertisements and placards—heroic, melodramatic, pathetic, and facetious—did the country form a true conception of the gravity of the position? Was it not in many cases confused and perplexed by the nature of the appeal? Did not many people conclude, that things could not really be so very serious, if those in authority resorted to such flamboyant and sensational methods—methods so conspicuously lacking in dignity, so inconsistent with all previous ideas of the majesty of Government in times of national peril?
The method itself, no doubt, was only unfamiliar in so far as it used the King's name. It was familiar and common enough in other connections. But a method which might have been unexceptionable for calling attention to the virtues of a shop, a soap, acircus, or a pill, seemed inappropriate in the case of a great nation struggling at the crisis of its fate.[4]
Each of us must judge from his own experience of the effect produced. The writer has heard harsher things said of these appeals by the poor, than by the well-to-do. The simplest and least sophisticated minds are often the severest critics in matters of taste as well as morals. And this was a matter of both. Among townspeople as well as countryfolk there were many who—whether they believed or disbelieved in the urgent need, whether they responded to the appeal or did not respond to it—regarded the whole of this 'publicity' campaign with distrust and dislike, as a thing which demoralised the country, which was revolting to its honour and conscience, and in which the King's name ought never to have been used.[5]
ON THE WORKING CLASSES
On the part of the working-classes there were other objections to the methods employed. They resented the hints and instructions which were so obligingly given by the 'publicity artists' and the 'party managers' to the well-to-do classes—to employers of all sorts—as to how they should bring pressure to bear upon their dependents. And they resented—especially the older men and those with family responsibilities—the manner in which they were invited by means of circulars to signify their willingness to serve—as they imagined in the last dire necessity—and when they had agreed patriotically to do so, found themselves shortly afterwards called upon to fulfil their contract. For they knew that in the neighbouring village—or in the very next house—there were men much more eligible for militaryservice in point of age and freedom from family responsibilities, who, not having either volunteered, or filled up the circular, were accordingly left undisturbed to go about their daily business.[6]
The attitude of the country generally at the outbreak of war was admirable. It was what it should have been—as on a ship after a collision, where crew and passengers, all under self-command, and without panic, await orders patiently. So the country waited—waited for clear orders—waited to be told, in tones free from all ambiguity and hesitation, what they were to do as classes and as individuals. There was very little fuss or confusion. People were somewhat dazed for a short while by the financial crisis; but the worst of that was soon over. They then said to themselves, "Let us get on with our ordinary work as hard as usual (or even harder), until we receive orders from those responsible for the ship's safety, telling us what we are to do."
BUSINESS AS USUAL
There was a certain amount of sparring, then and subsequently, between high-minded journalists, whowere engaged in carrying on their ownbusiness as usual, and hard-headed traders and manufacturers who desired to do likewise. The former were perhaps a trifle too self-righteous, while the latter took more credit than they deserved for patriotism, seeing that their chief merit was common sense. To have stopped the business of the country would have done nobody but the Germans any good, and would have added greatly to our national embarrassment.
At times of national crisis, there will always be a tendency, among most men and women, to misgivings, lest they may not be doing the full measure of their duty. Their consciences become morbidly active; it is inevitable that they should; indeed it would be regrettable if they did not. People are uncomfortable, unless they are doing something they have never done before, which they dislike doing, and which they do less well than their ordinary work. In many cases what they are inspired to do is less useful than would have been their ordinary work, well and thoughtfully done. At such times as these theSociety for Setting Everybody Rightalways increases its activities, and enrols a large number of new members. But very soon, if there is leadership of the nation, things fall into their proper places and proportions. Neither business nor pleasure can be carried on as usual, and everybody knows it. There must be great changes; but not merely for the sake of change. There must be great sacrifices in many cases; and those who are doing well must give a helping hand to those others who are doing ill. But all—whether they are doing well or ill from the standpoint of their own private interests—must be prepared to do what the leader of the nation orders them to do.This was fully recognised in August, September, October, and November last. The country expected orders—clear and unmistakable orders—and it was prepared to obey whatever orders it received.
But no orders came. Instead of orders there were appeals, warnings, suggestions, assurances. The panic-monger was let loose with his paint-box of horrors. The diffident parliamentarian fell to his usual methods of soothing, and coaxing, and shaming people into doing a very vague and much-qualified thing, which he termed their duty. But there was no clearness, no firmness. An ordinary man will realise his duty so soon as he receives a definite command, and not before. He received no such command; he was lauded, lectured, and exhorted; and then was left to decide upon his course of action by the light of his own reason and conscience.[7]
He was not even given a plain statement of thetrue facts of the situation, and then left at peace to determine what he would do. He was disturbed in his meditations by shouting—more shouting—ever louder and louder shouting—through some thousands of megaphones. The nature of the appeal was emotional, confusing, frenzied, and at times degrading. Naturally the results were in many directions most unsatisfactory, unbusinesslike, and disorderly. The drain of recruiting affected industries and individuals not only unequally and unfairly, but in a way contrary to the public interest. If Government will not exercise guidance and control in unprecedented circumstances, it is inevitable that the country must suffer.
AN ORGIE OF SENSATIONALISM
To judge from the placards and the posters, the pictures and the language, a casual stranger would not have judged that the British Empire stood at the crisis of its fate; but rather that some World's Fair was arriving shortly, and that these were the preliminary flourishes. Lord Kitchener cannot have enjoyed the pre-eminence which was allotted to him in our mural decorations, and which suggested that he was some kind of co-equal with the famous Barnum or Lord George Sanger. Probably no one alive hated the whole of this orgie of vulgar sensationalism, which the timidity of the politicians had forced upon the country, more than he did.[8]
Having stirred up good and true men to join the New Army, whether it was rightly their turn or not; having got at others in whom the voluntary spirit burned less brightly, by urging their employers to dismiss them and their sweethearts to throw them over if they refused the call of duty, the 'publicity artists' and the 'party managers' between them undoubtedly collected for Lord Kitchener a very fine army, possibly the finest raw material for an army which has ever been got together. And Lord Kitchener, thereupon, set to work, and trained this army as no one but Lord Kitchener could have trained it.
These results were a source of great pride and self-congratulation among the politicians. The voluntary principle—you see how it works! What a triumph! What other nation could have done the same?
Other nations certainly could not have done the same, for the reason that there are some things which one cannot do twice over, some things which one cannot give a second time—one's life for example, or the flower of the manhood of a nation to be made into soldiers.
Other nations could not have done what we were doing, because they had done it already. They had their men prepared when the need arose—which we had not. Other nations were engaged in holding the common enemy at enormous sacrifices until we made ourselves ready; until we—triumphing in ourvoluntary system, covering ourselves in self-praise, and declaring to the world, through the mouths of Sir John Simon and other statesmen, that each of our men was worth at least three of their 'pressed men' or conscripts—until we came up leisurely with reinforcements—six, nine, or twelve months hence—supposing that by such time, there was anything still left to come up for. If the Germans were then in Paris, Bordeaux, Brest, and Marseilles, there would be—temporarily at least—a great saving of mortality among the British race. If, on the other hand, the Allies had already arrived at Berlin without us, what greater triumph for the voluntary principle could possibly be imagined?
A FRENCH VIEW
Putting these views and considerations—which have so much impressed us all in our own recent discussions—before a French officer, I found him obstinate in viewing the matter at a different angle. He was inclined to lay stress on the case of Northern France, and even more on that of Belgium, whose resistance to the German invasion we had wished for and encouraged, and who was engaged in fighting our battles quite as much as her own. The voluntary principle, in spite of its triumphs at home—which he was not concerned to dispute—had not, he thought, as yet been remarkably triumphant abroad; and nine months had gone by since war began.
He insisted, moreover, that for years before war was declared, our great British statesmen could not have been ignorant of the European situation, either in its political or its military aspects. Such ignorance was inconceivable. They must have suspected the intentions of Germany, and they must have known the numbers of her army. England had commoninterests with France. Common interests, if there be a loyal understanding, involve equal sacrifices—equality of sacrifice not merely when the push comes, but in advance of the crisis, in preparation for it—a much more difficult matter. Why then had not our Government told the British people long ago what sacrifice its safety, no less than its honour, required of it to give?
I felt, after talking to my friend for some time, that although he rated our nation in some ways very highly indeed, although he was grateful for our assistance, hopeful of the future, confident that in Lord Kitchener we had found our man, nothing—nothing—not even selections from Mr. Spender's articles in theWestminster Gazette, or from Sir John Simon's speeches, or Sir John Brunner's assurances about the protection afforded by international law—could induce him to share our own enthusiasm for the voluntary system....The triumph of the voluntary system, he cried bitterly,is a German triumph: it is the ruin of Belgium and the devastation of France.
And looking at the matter from a Frenchman's point of view, there is something to be said for his contention.
Apart from any objections which may exist to British methods of recruiting since war broke out—to their injustice, want of dignity, and generally to their demoralising effect on public opinion—there are several still more urgent questions to be considered. Have those methods been adequate? And if so, are they going to continue adequate to the end? Is there, in short, any practical need for conscription?
We do not answer these questions by insisting that, if there had been conscription in the past, we should have been in a much stronger position when war broke out; or by proving to our own satisfaction, that if we had possessed a national army, war would never have occurred. Such considerations as these are by no means done with; they are indeed still very important; but they lie rather aside from the immediate question with which we are now faced, and which, for lack of any clear guidance from those in authority, many of us have been endeavouring of late to solve by the light of our own judgment.
NEED FOR NATIONAL SERVICE
The answer which the facts supply does not seem to be in any doubt. We need conscription to bring this war to a victorious conclusion. We need conscription no less in order that we may impose terms of lasting peace. Conscription is essential to the proper organisation not only of our manhood, but also of our national resources.[9] Judging by the increasing size, frequency, and shrillness of recent recruiting advertisements, conscription would seem to be equally essential in order to secure the number of recruits necessary for making good the wastage of war, even in the present preliminary stage of the war. And morally, conscription is essential in order that the whole nation may realise, before it is too late, the life-or-death nature of the present struggle; in order also that other nations—our Allies as well as our enemies—may understand—what they certainly do not understand at present—that our spirit is as firm and self-sacrificing as their own.
The voluntary system has broken down long ago.It broke down on the day when the King of England declared war upon the Emperor of Germany. From that moment it was obvious that, in a prolonged war, the voluntary system could not be relied upon to give us, in an orderly and businesslike way, the numbers which we should certainly require. It was also obvious that it was just as inadequate for the purpose of introducing speed, order, and efficiency into the industrial world, as strength into our military affairs.
So far, however, most of the accredited oracles of Government have either denounced national military service as un-English, and a sin against freedom; or else they have evaded the issue, consoling their various audiences with the reflection, that it will be time enough to talk of compulsion, when it is clearly demonstrated that the voluntary system can no longer give us what we need. It seems improvident to wait until the need has been proved by the painful process of failure. The curses of many dead nations lie upon the procrastination of statesmen, who waited for breakdown to prove the necessity of sacrifice. Compulsion, like other great changes, cannot be systematised and put through in a day. It needs preparation. If the shoe begins to pinch severely in August, and we only then determine to adopt conscription, what relief can we hope to experience before the following midsummer? And in what condition of lameness may the British Empire be by then?
"But what," it may be asked, "of all the official and semi-official statements which have been uttered in a contrary sense? Surely the nation is bound to trust its own Government, even although nofacts and figures are offered in support of their assurances."
VALUE OF OFFICIAL ASSURANCES
Unfortunately it is impossible to place an implicit faith in official and semi-official statements, unless we have certain knowledge that they are confirmed by the facts. There has been an abundance of such statements in recent years—with regard to the innocence of Germany's intentions—with regard to the adequacy of our own preparations—while only a few weeks ago Mr. Asquith himself was assuring us that neither the operations of our own army, nor those of our Allies' armies, had ever been crippled, or even hampered, by any want of munitions.
When, therefore, assurances flow from the same source—assurances that there is no need for compulsory military service—that the voluntary system has given, is giving, and will continue to give us all we require—we may be forgiven for expressing our incredulity. Such official and semi-official statements are not supported by any clear proofs. They are contradicted by much that we have heard from persons who are both honest, and in a position to know. They are discredited by our own eyes when we read the recruiting advertisements and posters. It seems safer, therefore, to dismiss these official and semi-official assurances, and trust for once to our instinct and the evidence of our own senses. It seems safer also not to wait for complete breakdown in war, or mortifying failure in negotiations for peace, in order to have the need for national service established beyond a doubt.
[1] Cf. Mr. Runciman,ante, p. 344.
[2] (A) Four questions to the women of England.
1. You have read what the Germans have done in Belgium. Have you thought what they would do if they invaded England?
2. Do you realise that the safety of your Home and Children depends on our getting more men now?
3. Do you realise that the one word "Go" fromyoumay send another man to fight for our King and Country?
4. When the War is over and your husband or your son is asked 'What did you do in the great War?'—is he to hang his head because you would not let him go?
Women of England do your duty! Send your mento-dayto join our glorious Army.
GOD SAVE THE KING.
(B) Five questions to those who employ male servants.
1. Have you a butler, groom, chauffeur, gardener, or gamekeeper servingyouwho, at this moment should be serving your King and Country?
2. Have you a man serving at your table who should be serving a gun?
3. Have you a man digging your garden who should be digging trenches?
4. Have you a man driving your car who should be driving a transport wagon?
5. Have you a man preserving your game who should be helping to preserve your Country?
A great responsibility rests on you. Will you sacrifice your personal convenience for your Country's need?
Ask your men to enlistto-day.
The address of the nearest Recruiting Office can be obtained at any Post Office.
GOD SAVE THE KING.
[3] How many we have not been told; but that the numbers whatever they may be do not yet reach nearly what is still required we know from the frantic character of the most recent advertisements.
[4] With apologies for the dialect, in which I am not an expert, I venture to set out the gist of a reply given to a friend who set himself to find out why recruiting was going badly in a Devonshire village.... "We do-ant think nought, Zur, o' them advertaizements and noospaper talk about going soldgering. When Guv'ment needs soldgers really sore, Guv'ment'll say so clear enough, like it does when it wants taxes—'Come 'long, Frank Halls, you're wanted.' ... And when Guv'ment taps Frank Halls on showlder, and sez this, I'll go right enough; but I'll not stir foot till Guv'ment does; nor'll any man of sense this zide Exeter."
[5] The following letter which appeared in theWestminster Gazette(January 20, 1915), states the case so admirably that I have taken the liberty of quoting it in full:
"DEAR SIR—Every day you tell your readers that we are collecting troops by means of voluntary enlistment, yet it is self-evident that our recruiting campaign from the first has been a very noisy and a very vulgar compulsion, which in a time of immense crisis has lowered the dignity of our country and provoked much anxiety among our Allies. Our national habit of doing the right thing in the wrong way has never been exercised in a more slovenly and unjust manner. It is a crime against morals not to use the equitable principles of national service when our country is fighting for her life; and this obvious truth should be recognised as a matter of course by every true democrat. A genuinely democratic people, proud of their past history, and determined to hold their own against Germany's blood-lust, would have divided her male population into classes, and would have summoned each class to the colours at a given date. Those who were essential to the leading trades of the country would have been exempted from war service in the field, as they are in Germany; the younger classes would have been called up first, and no class would have been withdrawn from its civil work until the military authorities were ready to train it. Instead of this quiet and dignified justice, this admirable and quiet unity of a free people inspired by a fine patriotism, we have dazed ourselves with shrieking posters and a journalistic clamour against 'shirkers,' and loud abuse of professional footballers; and now an advertisement in the newspapers assures the women of England thattheymust do what the State declines to achieve, that they must send their men and boys into the field since their country is fighting for her life. What cowardice! Why impose this voluntary duty on women when the State is too ignoble to look upon her own duty in this matter as a moral obligation?
"The one virtue of voluntary enlistment is that it should be voluntary—a free choice between a soldier's life and a civilian's life. To use moral pressure, with the outcries of public indignation, in order to drive civilians from their work into the army—what is this but a most undignified compulsion? And it is also a compulsion that presses unequally upon the people, for its methods are without system. Many families send their all into the fighting line; many decline to be patriotic. A woman said to me yesterday: 'My husband has gone, and I am left with his business. Why should he go? Other women in my neighbourhood have their husbands still, and it's rubbish to say that the country is in danger when the Government allows and encourages this injustice in recruiting. If the country is in danger all the men should fight—if their trade work is unnecessary to the armies."
"This point of view is right; the wrong one is advocated by you and by other Radicals who dislike the justice of democratic equality.—Yours truly, WALTER SHAW SPARROW."
[6] There have been bitter complaints of this artful way of getting recruits, as a boy 'sniggles' trout. The following letter to the Times (April 21, 1915) voices a very widely spread sense of injustice:
"SIR—Will you give me the opportunity to ask a question, which I think you will agree is important? When the Circular to Householders was issued, many heads of families gave in their names on the assumption that they would be called up on the last resort, and under circumstances in which no patriotic man could refuse his help. Married men with large families are now being called up apparently without the slightest regard to their home circumstances. Many of the best of them are surprised and uneasy at leaving their families, but feel bound in honour to keep their word, some even thinking they have no choice. The separation allowances for these families will be an immense burden on the State, and, if the breadwinner falls, a permanent burden. Is the need for men still so serious and urgent as to justify this? If it is, then I for one, who have up to now hoped that the war might be put through without compulsion, feel that the time has come to 'fetch' the unmarried shirkers, and I believe there is a wide-spread and growing feeling to that effect.—I am, Sir, etc., CHARLES G. E. WELBY."
[7] An example of the apparent inability of the Government to do anything thoroughly or courageously is found in a circular letter to shopkeepers and wholesale firms, which was lately sent out by the Home Secretary and the President of the Board of Trade. The object of this enquiry—undertaken at leisure, nine months after the outbreak of war—is to obtain information as to the number of men of military age, who are still employed in these particular trades, and as to the willingness of their employers to spare them if required, and to reinstate them at the end of the war, etc., etc.
The timid futility of this attempt at organising the resources of the country is shownfirstby the fact that it left to the option of each employer whether he will reply or not. Businesses which do not wish to have their employees taken away need not give an answer. It is compulsory for individuals to disclose all particulars of their income; why, therefore, need Government shrink from making it compulsory upon firms to disclose all particulars of their staffs? ... Thesecondvice of this application is that the information asked for is quite inadequate for the object. Even if the enquiry were answered faithfully by every employer and householder in the country, it would not give the Government what they require for the purposes of organising industry or recruiting the army.... In thethirdplace, a certain group of trades is singled out at haphazard. If it is desired to organise the resources of the country what is needed is a general census of all males between 16 and 60.
One does not know whether to marvel most at the belated timorousness of this enquiry, or at the slatternly way in which it has been framed.
[8] One who is no longer alive—Queen Victoria—would possibly have hated it even more. Imagine her late Majesty's feelings on seeing the walls of Windsor plastered with the legend—'Be a sport: Join to-day'—and with other appeals of the same elevating character! ... But perhaps the poster which is more remarkable than any other—considering the source from which it springs—is one showing a garish but recognisable portrait of Lord Roberts, with the motto, 'He did his duty. Will you do yours?' If the timidity of politicians is apparent in certain directions, their courage is no less noteworthy in others. The courage of a Government (containing as it does Mr. Asquith, Lord Haldane, Mr. Runciman, Sir John Simon, Mr. Harcourt, and Mr. Acland—not to mention others) which can issue such a poster must be of a very high order indeed. One wonders, however, if this placard would not be more convincing, and its effect even greater, were the motto amplified, so as to tell the whole story: "He did his duty; we denounced him for doing it. We failed to do ours; will you, however, do yours?"
[9] This aspect is very cogently stated in Mr. Shaw Sparrow's letter to theWestminster Gazettequoted on pp. 370-371.
If 'National Service,' or 'Conscription,' has actually become necessary already, or may conceivably become so before long, it seems worth while to glance at some of the considerations which have been urged in favour of this system in the past, and also to examine some of the causes and conditions which have hitherto led public opinion in the United Kingdom, as well as in several of the Dominions, to regard the principle of compulsion with hostility and distrust. The true nature of what we call the 'Voluntary System,' and the reasons which have induced a large section of our fellow-countrymen to regard it as one of our most sacred institutions, are worth looking into, now that circumstances may force us to abandon it in the near future.
Beyond the question, whether the system of recruiting, which has been employed during the present war, can correctly be described as 'voluntary,' there is the further question, whether the system, which is in use at ordinary times, and which produces some 35,000 men per annum, can be so described. Lord Roberts always maintained that it could not, and that its true title was 'the Conscription of Hunger.'
NORMAL RECRUITING METHODS
Any one who has watched the recruiting-sergeant at work, on a raw cold day of winter or early spring, will be inclined to agree with Lord Roberts. A fine, good-humoured, well-fed, well-set-up fellow, in a handsome uniform, with rows of medals which light up the mean and dingy street, lays himself alongside some half-starved poor devil, down in his luck, with not a rag to his back that the north wind doesn't blow through. The appetites and vanities of the latter are all of them morbidly alert—hunger, thirst, the desire for warmth, and to cut a smart figure in the world. The astute sergeant, though no professor of psychology, understands the case thoroughly, as he marks down his man. He greets him heartily with a 'good day' that sends a glow through him, even before the drink at the Goat and Compasses, or Green Dragon has been tossed off, and the King's shilling accepted.
Not that there is any need for pity or regret. These young men with empty bellies, and no very obvious way of filling them, except by violence—these lads with gloom at their hearts, in many cases with a burden of shame weighing on them at having come into such a forlorn pass—in nine cases out of ten enlistment saves them; perhaps in more even than that.
But talk about compulsion and the voluntary principle! What strikes the observer most about such a scene as this is certainly not anything which can be truly termed 'voluntary.' If one chooses to put things into ugly words—which is sometimes useful, in order to give a shock to good people who are tending towards self-righteousness in their worship of phrases—this is the compulsion of hunger andmisery. It might even be contended that it was not only compulsion, but a mean, sniggling kind of compulsion, taking advantage of a starving man.
The law is very chary of enforcing promises made under duress. If a man dying of thirst signs his birthright away, or binds himself in service for a term of years, in exchange for a glass of water, the ink and paper have no validity. But the recruit is firmly bound. He has made a contract to give his labour, and to risk his life for a long period of years, at a wage which is certainly below the market rate; and he is held to it. Things much more 'voluntary' than this have been dubbed 'slavery,' and denounced as 'tainted with servile conditions.' And the loudest denunciators have been precisely those anti-militarists, who uphold our 'voluntary' system with the hottest fervour, while reprobating 'compulsion' with the utmost horror.
MORAL AND ECONOMIC ASPECTS
We have heard much caustic abuse of the National Service League. It has been accused of talking 'the cant of compulsion'; by which has been meant that certain of its members have put in the forefront of their argument the moral and physical advantages which they imagine universal military training would confer upon the nation. Some may possibly have gone too far, and lost sight of the need of the nation, in their enthusiasm for the improvement of the individual. But if occasionally their arguments assume the form of cant, can their lapse be compared with the cant which tells the world smugly that the British Army is recruited on the voluntary principle?
The 'economic argument,' as it is called, is another example. The country would be faced withruin, we are told, if every able-bodied man had to give 'two of the best years of his life,'[1] and a week or two out of each of the ensuing seven, to 'unproductive' labour. Sums have been worked out the to hundreds of millions sterling, with the object of showing that the national loss, during a single generation, would make the national debt appear insignificant. How could Britain maintain her industrial pre-eminence weighted with such a handicap?
One answer is that Britain, buoyed up though she has been by her voluntary system, has not lately been outstripping those of her competitors who carried this very handicap which it is now proposed that she should carry; that she has not even been maintaining her relative position in the industrial world in comparison, for example, with Germany.
But there is also another answer. If you take a youth at the plastic age when he has reached manhood, feed him on wholesome food, subject him to vigorous and varied exercise, mainly in the open air, discipline him, train him to co-operation with his fellows, make him smart and swift in falling-to at whatever work comes under his hand, you are thereby giving him precisely what, for his own sake and that of the country, is most needed at the present time. You are giving him the chance of developing his bodily strength under healthy conditions, and you are giving him a general education and moral training which, in the great majority of cases, will be of great value to him in all his after life.
It is the regret of every one, who has studied our industrial system from within, that men wear out toosoon. By the time a man reaches his fortieth year—often earlier—he is too apt, in many vocations, to be an old man; and for that reason he is in danger of being shoved out of his place by a younger generation.
This premature and, for the most part, unnecessary ageing is the real economic loss. If by taking two years out of a man's life as he enters manhood, if by improving his physique and helping him to form healthy habits, you can thereby add on ten or fifteen years to his industrial efficiency, you are not only contributing to his own happiness, but are also adding enormously to the wealth and prosperity of the country. Any one indeed, who chooses to work out sums upon this hypothesis, will hardly regard the national debt as a large enough unit for comparison. The kernel of this matter is, that men wear out in the working classes earlier than in others, mainly because they have no break, no rest, no change, from the day they leave school to take up a trade, till the day when they have to hand in their checks for good and all. It is not effort, but drudgery, which most quickly ages a man. It is the rut—straight, dark, narrow, with no horizons, and no general view of the outside world—which is the greatest of social dangers. More than anything else it tends to narrowness of sympathy and bitterness of heart.
UNDER-RATING OF CONSCRIPT ARMIES
It would be cant to claim that universal military training will get rid of this secular evil; but to say that it will help to diminish it is merely the truth. The real 'cant' is to talk about the economic loss under conscription; for there would undoubtedly be an immense economic gain.
But indeed the advocacy of the voluntary systemis stuffed full of cant.... We are all proud of our army; and rightly so. But the opponents of universal military service go much further in this direction than the soldiers themselves. They contrast our army, to its enormous advantage, with the conscript armies of the continent, which they regard as consisting of vastly inferior fighting men—of men, in a sense despicable, inasmuch as their meek spirits have submitted tamely to conscription.
Colonel Seely, who, when he touches arithmetic soars at once into the region of poetry, has pronounced confidently that one of our voluntary soldiers is worth ten men whom the law compels to serve. Sir John Simon was still of opinion—even after several months of war—that one of our volunteers was worth at least three conscripts; and he was convinced that the Kaiser himself already knew it. What a splendid thing if Colonel Seely were right, or even if Sir John Simon were right!
But is either of them right? So far as our voluntary army is superior—and it was undoubtedly superior in certain respects at the beginning of the war—it was surely not because it was a 'voluntary' army; but because, on the average, it had undergone a longer and more thorough course of training than the troops against which it was called upon to fight. Fine as its spirit was, and high as were both its courage and its intelligence, who has ever heard a single soldier maintain that—measured through and through—it was in those respects superior to the troops alongside which, or against which it fought?
As the war has continued month after month, and men with only a few months' training have beendrafted across the Channel to supply the British wastage of war, even this initial superiority which came of longer and more thorough training has gradually been worn away. A time will come, no doubt—possibly it has already come—when Germany, having used up her trained soldiers of sound physique, has to fall back upon an inferior quality. But that is merely exhaustion. It does not prove the superiority of the voluntary system. It does not affect the comparison between men of equal stamina and spirit—one set of whom has been trained beforehand in arms—the other not put into training until war began.
Possibly Colonel Seely spoke somewhat lightly and thoughtlessly in those serene days before the war-cloud burst; but Sir John Simon spoke deliberately—his was the voice of the Cabinet, after months of grim warfare. To describe his utterances as cant does not seem unjust, though possibly it is inadequate. We are proud of our army, not merely because of its fine qualities, but for the very fact that it is what we choose to call a 'voluntary' army. But what do they say of it in foreign countries? What did the whole of Europe say of it during the South African War? What are the Germans saying of it now?
Naturally prejudice has led them to view the facts at a different angle. They have seldom referred to the 'voluntary' character of our army. That was not the aspect which attracted their attention, so much as the other aspect, that our soldiers received pay, and therefore, according to German notions, 'fought for hire.' At the time of the South African War all continental nations said of our army whatthe Germans still say—not that it was a 'voluntary' army, but that it was a 'mercenary' army; and this is a much less pleasant-sounding term.[2]
THE CANT OF MILITARISM
In this accusation we find the other kind of cant—the cant of militarism. For if ours is a mercenary army, so is their own, in so far as the officers and non-commissioned officers are concerned. But as a matter of fact no part, either of our army or the existing German army, can with any truth be described as 'mercenaries'; for this is a term applicable only to armies—much more common in the past in Germany than anywhere else—who were hired out to fight abroad in quarrels which were not their own.
But although this German accusation against the character of our troops is pure cant, it would not be wholly so were it levelled against the British people. Not our army, but we ourselves, are the true mercenaries; because we pay others to do for us what other nations do for themselves. In German eyes—and perhaps in other eyes as well, which are less willing to see our faults—this charge against the British people appears maintainable. It is incomprehensible to other nations, why we should refuse to recognise that it is any part of our duty,as a people, to defend our country; why we will not admit the obligation either to train ourselves to arms in time of peace, or to risk our lives in time of war; why we hold obstinately to it that such things are no part ofour duty as a people, but are only the duty of private individuals who love fighting, or who are endowed with more than the average sense of duty.
"As for you, the great British People," writes Hexenküchen contemptuously, "you merely fold your hands, and say self-righteously, that your duty begins and ends with paying certain individuals to fight for you—individuals whose personal interest can be tempted with rewards; whose weakness of character can be influenced by taunts, and jeers, and threats of dismissal; or who happen to see their duty in a different light from the great majority which calls itself (and ispar excellence) the British People...." This may be a very prejudiced view of the matter, but it is the German view. What they really mean when they say that England is to be despised because she relies upon a mercenary army, is that England is to be despised because, being mercenary, she relies upon a professional army. The taunt, when we come to analyse it, is found to be levelled, not against the hired, but against the hirers; and although we may be very indignant, it is not easy to disprove its justice.
The British nation, if not actually the richest, is at any rate one of the richest in the world. It has elected to depend for its safety upon an army which cannot with justice be called either 'voluntary' or 'mercenary,' but which it is fairly near the truth to describe as 'professional.' The theory of our arrangement is that we must somehow, and at the cheapest rate, contrive to tempt enough men to become professional soldiers to ensure national safety. Accordingly we offer such inducements to take upthe career of arms—instead of the trades of farm labourer, miner, carpenter, dock hand, shopkeeper, lawyer, physician, or stockbroker—as custom and the circumstances of the moment appear to require.
In an emergency we offer high pay and generous separation allowances to the private soldier. In normal times we give him less than the market rate of wages.
PAY OF THE BRITISH ARMY
The pay of junior or subaltern officers is so meagre that it cannot, by any possibility, cover the expenses which Government insists upon their incurring. Captains, majors, and lieutenant-colonels are paid much less than the wages of foremen or sub-managers in any important industrial undertaking. Even for those who attain the most brilliant success in their careers, there are no prizes which will stand comparison for a moment with a very moderate degree of prosperity in the world of trade or finance. They cannot even be compared with the prizes open to the bar or the medical profession.
Hitherto we have obtained our officers largely owing to a firmly rooted tradition among the country gentlemen and the military families—neither as a rule rich men, or even very easy in their circumstances as things go nowadays—many of them very poor—a tradition so strong that it is not cant, but plain truth, to call it sense of duty. There are other motives, of course, which may lead a boy to choose this profession—love of adventure, comparative freedom from indoor life, pleasant comradeship, and in the case of the middle classes, recently risen to affluence, social aspirations. But even in the last there is far more good than harm; though in anti-militarist circles it is the unworthy aim which is usually dwelt upon witha sneering emphasis. For very often, when a man has risen from humble circumstances to a fortune, he rejoices that his sons should serve the state, since it is in his power to make provision. The example of his neighbours, whose ancestors have been living on their acres since the days of the Plantagenets or the Tudors, is a noble example; and he is wise to follow it.
In the case of the rank and file of our army, a contract for a term of years (with obligations continuing for a further term of years) is entered into, and signed, under the circumstances which have already been considered. We are faced here with a phenomenon which seems strange in an Age which has conceded the right to 'down tools,' even though by so doing a solemn engagement is broken—in an Age which has become very fastidious about hiring agreements of most kinds, very suspicious of anything suggestive of 'servile conditions' or 'forced labour,' and which deprecates the idea of penalising breach of contract, on the part of a workman, even by process in the civil courts.
As regards a private soldier in the British army, however, the Age apparently has no such compunctions. His contract has been made under duress. Its obligations last for a long period of years. The pay is below the ordinary market rates. Everything in fact which, in equity, would favour a revision, pleads in favour of the soldier who demands to be released. But let him plead and threaten as he please, he is not released. It is not a case of suing him for damages in the civil courts, but of dealing with him under discipline and mutiny acts, the terms of which are simple and drastic—inpeace time imprisonment, in war time death. Without these means of enforcing the 'voluntary' system the British people would not feel themselves safe.
This phenomenon seems even stranger, when we remember that a large and influential part of the British people is not only very fastidious as to the terms of all other sorts of hiring agreements, as to rates of pay, and as to the conditions under which such contracts have been entered into—that it is not only most tender in dealing with the breach of such agreements—but that it also regards the object of the agreement for military service with particular suspicion. This section of the British people is anti-militarist on conscientious grounds. One would have thought, therefore, that it might have been more than usually careful to allow the man, who hires himself out for lethal purposes, to have the benefit of second thoughts; or even of third, fourth, and fifth thoughts. For he, too, may develop a conscience when his belly is no longer empty. But no: to do this would endanger the 'voluntary' system.
THE ANTI-MILITARIST CONSCIENCE
This anti-militarist section of the British people is composed of citizens who, if we are to believe their own professions, love peace more than other men love it, and hate violence as a deadly sin. They are determined not to commit this deadly sin themselves; but being unable to continue in pursuit of their material and spiritual affairs, unless others will sin in their behalf, they reluctantly agree to hire—at as low a price as possible—a number of wild fellows from the upper classes and wastrels from the lower classes—both of whom they regard as approximating to the reprobate type—to defend their property, to keeptheir lives safe, to enforce their Will as it is declared by ballot papers and House of Commons divisions, and to allow them to continue their careers of beneficent self-interest undisturbed.
But for all that, we are puzzled by the rigour with which the contract for military service is enforced, even to the last ounce of the pound of flesh. Not a murmur of protest comes from this section of the British people, although it has professed to take the rights of the poorer classes as its special province. The explanation probably is that, like King Charles I., they have made a mental reservation, and are thus enabled to distinguish the case of the soldier from that of his brother who engages in a civil occupation.
Roughly speaking, they choose to regard the civilian as virtuous, while the soldier, on the other hand, cannot safely be presumed to be anything of the sort. Sometimes indeed—perhaps more often than not—he appears to them to be distinctly unvirtuous. The presumption is against him; for if he were really virtuous, how could he ever have agreed to become a soldier, even under pressure of want? For regulating the service of such men as these force is a regrettable, but necessary, instrument. The unvirtuous man has agreed to sin, and the virtuous man acts justly in holding him to his bargain. If a soldier develops a conscience, and insists on 'downing tools' it is right to imprison him; even in certain circumstances to put him against a wall and shoot him.
These ideas wear an odd appearance when we come to examine them closely, and yet not only did they exist, but they were actually very prevalent down to the outbreak of the present war. Theyseem to be somewhat prevalent, even now, in various quarters. But surely it is strange that virtuous citizens should need the protection of unvirtuous ones; that they should underpay; that they should adopt the methods of 'forced labour' as a necessary part of the 'voluntary system'; that they should imprison and shoot men for breach of hiring agreements—hiring agreements for long periods of years, entered into under pressure of circumstances.
ANTI-MILITARIST CONFIDENCE
But there is a thing even stranger than any of these. Considering how jealous the great anti-militarist section of our fellow-countrymen is of anything which places the army in a position to encroach upon, or overawe, the civil power, it seems very remarkable that they should nevertheless have taken a large number of men—whose morals, in their view, were below rather than above the average—should have armed them with rifles and bayonets, and spent large sums of money in making them as efficient as possible for lethal purposes, while refusing firmly to armthemselveswith anything but ballot-boxes, or to make themselves fit for any form of self-defence.
It seems never to have crossed the minds of the anti-militarist section that those whom they thus regard—if not actually with moral reprehension, at any rate somewhat askance—might perhaps some day discover that there were advantages in being armed, and in having become lethally efficient; that having studied the phenomena of strikes, and having there seen force of various kinds at work—hiring agreements broken, combinations to bring pressure on society successful, rather black things occasionally hushed up and forgiven—soldiers might draw their own conclusions. Having grown tired of pay lowerthan the market rate, still more tired of moral lectures about the wickedness of their particular trade, and of tiresome old-fashioned phrases about the subordination of the military to the civil power—what if they, like other trades and classes, should begin to consider the propriety of putting pressure on society, since such pressure appears nowadays to be one of the recognised instruments for redress of wrongs? ... Have not professional soldiers the power to put pressure on society in the twentieth century, just as they have done, again and again, in past times in other kingdoms and democracies, where personal freedom was so highly esteemed, that even the freedom to abstain from defending your country was respected by public opinion and the laws of the land?
But nonsense! In Germany, France, Russia, Austria, Italy, and other conscript countries armies are hundreds of times stronger than our own, while the soldiers in these cases are hardly paid enough to keep a smoker in pipe-tobacco. And yet they do not think of putting pressure on society, or of anything so horrible. This of course is true; but then, in these instances, the Army is only Society itself passing, as it were, like a may-fly, through a certain stage in its life-history. Army and Society in the conscript countries are one and the same. A man does not think of putting undue pressure upon himself. But in our case the Army and Society are not one and the same. Their relations are those of employer and employed, as they were in Rome long ago; and as between employer and employed, there are always apt to be questions of pay and position.
It is useful in this connection to think a little of Rome with its 'voluntary' or 'mercenary' or'professional' army—an army underpaid at first, afterwards perhaps somewhat overpaid, when it occurred to its mind to put pressure on society.
But Rome in the first century was a very different place from England in the twentieth. Very different indeed! The art and rules of war were considerably less of an expert's business than they are to-day. Two thousand years ago—weapons being still somewhat elementary—gunpowder not yet discovered—no railway trains and tubes, and outer and inner circles, which now are as necessary for feeding great cities as arteries and veins for keeping the human heart going—private citizens, moreover, being not altogether unused to acting with violence in self-defence—it might have taken, perhaps, 100,000 disciplined and well-led reprobates a week or more to hold the six millions of Greater London by the throat. To-day 10,000 could do this with ease between breakfast and dinner-time. Certainly a considerable difference—but somehow not a difference which seems altogether reassuring.
Since the days of Oliver Cromwell the confidence of the anti-militarists in the docility of the British Army has never experienced any serious shock. But yet, according to the theories of this particular school, why should our army alone, of all trades and professions, be expected not to place its own class interests before those of the country?
ARMIES AS LIBERATORS
When professional armies make their first entry into practical politics it is almost always in the role of liberators and defenders of justice. An instance might easily occur if one or other set of politicians, in a fit of madness or presumption, were to ask, or order, the British Army to undertake certainoperations against a section of their fellow-countrymen, which the soldiers themselves judged to be contrary to justice and their own honour.
Something of this kind very nearly came to pass in March 1914. The Curragh incident, as it was called, showed in a flash what a perilous gulf opens, when a professional army is mishandled. Politicians, who have come by degrees to regard the army—not as a national force, or microcosm of the people, but as an instrument which electoral success has placed temporarily in their hands, and which may therefore be used legitimately for forwarding their own party ends—have ever been liable to blunder in this direction.
Whatever may have been the merits of the Curragh case, the part which the British Army was asked and expected to play on that occasion, was one which no democratic Government would have dared to order a conscript army to undertake, until it had been ascertained, beyond any possibility of doubt, that the country as a whole believed extreme measures to be necessary for the national safety.
If professional soldiers, however high and patriotic their spirit, be treated as mercenaries—as if, in their dealings with their fellow-countrymen, they had neither souls nor consciences—it can be no matter for surprise if they should come by insensible degrees to think and act as mercenaries.... One set or other of party politicians—the occurrence is quite as conceivable in the case of a Unionist Government as in that of a Liberal—issues certain orders, which it would never dare to issue to a conscript army, and these orders, to its immense surprise, are not obeyed. Thereupon a Government, which only the day beforeseemed to be established securely on a House of Commons majority and the rock of tradition, is seen to be powerless. The army in its own eyes—possibly in that of public opinion also—has stood between the people and injustice. It has refused to be made the instrument for performing an act of tyranny and oppression. Possibly in sorrow and disgust it dissolves itself and ceases to exist. Possibly, on the other hand, it glows with the approbation of its own conscience; begins to admire its own strength, and not improbably to wonder, if it might not be good for the country were soldiers to put forth their strong arm rather more often, in order to restrain the politicians from following evil courses. This of course is the end of democracy and the beginning of militarism.
An army which starts by playing the popular role of benefactor, or liberator, will end very speedily by becoming the instrument of a military despotism. We need look no farther back than Cromwell and his major-generals for an example. We have been in the habit of regarding such contingencies as remote and mediaeval; none the less we had all but started on this fatal course in the spring and summer of last year. We were then saved, not by the wisdom of statesmen—for these only increased the danger by the spectacle which they afforded of timidity, temper, and equivocation—but solely by the present war which, though it has brought us many horrors, has averted, for a time at least, what is infinitely the worst of all.
SERVICE AND SUFFRAGE
The conclusion is plain. A democracy which asserts the right of manhood suffrage, while denying the duty of manhood service, is living in a fool's paradise.
A democracy which does not fully identify itself with its army, which does not treat its army with honour and as an equal, but which treats it, on the contrary, as ill-bred and ill-tempered people treat their servants—with a mixture, that is, of fault-finding and condescension—is following a very perilous path.
An army which does not receive the treatment it deserves, and which at the same time is ordered by the politicians to perform services which, upon occasions, it may hold to be inconsistent with its honour, is a danger to the state.
A democracy which, having refused to train itself for its own defence, thinks nevertheless that it can safely raise the issue of 'the Army versus the People,' is mad.
[1] This was the German period of training for infantry. The National Service League proposal was four months.
[2] The pay of the French private soldier is, I understand, about a sou—a halfpenny—a day. In his eyes the British soldier in the next trench, who receives from a shilling to eighteenpence a day—and in the case of married men a separation allowance as well—must appear as a kind of millionaire. During the South African War the pay of certain volunteer regiments reached the preposterous figure of five shillings a day for privates. Men serving with our army as motor drivers—in comparative safety—receive something like six shillings or seven and sixpence a day.